Perpetual Love on The Fourth of July
by Shae Wexburg
Summary: USUK One-Shot: The Fourth of July is a date to be celebrated. It's America's birthday, and independence day. However, America and England both have problems that will be solved through the ever changing years of the Fourth of July. Side Ships: Mentions of America x Davie, AmeCan, Spamano, Gerita, and others like so.


America's favorite time of the year had finally rolled around. His birthday, and his independence. He loved this time, because he would send out invitations, and decorate his home. He would hear the cheers of his own people and receive tourists wanting to attempt to endure the insane, psychotic festivities. Even many of the other nations would turn up at his party and not discuss politics, only engage in laughs and stories. Except maybe Russia, he still terrified America. But not _too_ badly. After all, who would win the Cold War?

England's least favorite time of the year rolled around. He would never tell this to the boy he once raised who was born on this day. And he wouldn't let himself be reminded that it was the day he became free. England would listen and hear the people exclaiming things in excitement, and his heart would sink knowing his defeat resulted in such. His heart still broken from the events, his chest still aching at the memories. He wouldn't turn up to the party, preferring to stay home and wallow in self pity. He wouldn't smile on these days, what need have he?

America was already with Canada. He was celebrating Canada's birthday. Three days before his own. America always showed up, because America loved birthday parties. And cake. And food. Did he mention that he loved eating? Canada simply accepted this fact, thankful that he was always accompanied on his birthday's by the hyperactive nation.

Three days before America's birthday, England was searching for his finest rum. He would drink up, and perhaps call up stupid frogface to cry to. France may have been an insufferable simpleton, but when it came to love, he always listened. Didn't matter if it was England or Belarus. Okay… Maybe not that far. Needless to say, England was a mess.

The two nations, America and England, were much alike. Yet, much, much different. The problem was, England was deeply in love with the idiot known as America. His colony. His independent colony who would forever remain in England's heart. Meanwhile, America saw him as simply an equal. Not a brother nor a lover. But certainly a friend. After all, the relationship between the two countries is quoted to be 'a special relationship'.

They'd been through alot together. The early years, the 'rebellious' years, gaining his independence through war, the war of 1812, they'd seen each other during world wars. And even now the two shared many cultural ideas. From connections between television series to ideas regarding politics, similar but different. They knew each other, very, _very_ well. But not as well as England would like.

England wanted to see every side of America, to feel every part of him. To fall asleep next to him, knowing that he wasn't _his_ colony per say, but someone they could rely on countlessly through not their already formed bond of trust, but through pure, unadulterated, untainted love. That was all England longed for. But he knew he could never have it.

America was like an angel, but a devil. He was like a god to England, untouchable, unseeable, but always there before him. America saw England, he cared, but what did America think of love? Not much. He was scared of loving, that was a fact. But at the end of the day America could be a player. Could change the view of someone else. He was cold, and dark, he was ruthless. Where no one could see, and England longed to feel that gaze on others, with America at his side. But America could also be kind, and gentle, and naive. And England loved him with passion that ate into his daily life, overpowered his soul by devouring it day by day.

Normally England could hide it, but knowing that America was so blatantly celebrating being away from him hurt. Twisted a dagger through his ever fragile heart. And when the day of America's birthday and independence celebration arrived, England couldn't bring himself to even go outside.

Two days until his birthday. Oh my, America was counting down the moments. He wanted to grab Canada and swing around the room. He already had streamers strung throughout the room, just recently taking down Canada's. There were hats lying around, for people to pick up when the party began. America couldn't have more exuberant nature within a year.

Two days until the birthday. And dear, England's body was in near a comatose like state. His hand hovering above the phone. Knowing his wrist wasn't going to be able to lift up such a small thing, it stung but it was accurate. He was too fragile, too messed up. There were bottles strewn around, and England picked them up to throw or drink. England couldn't be any more ruined.

Smiles and glee emitted from the young nation. How nice would it feel to set off the fireworks? How loud would his people cheer, knowing the people of the past fought to bring them where they were now? He had his people to thank, for his own survival and his prosperity. And in a strange way, England had somehow contributed.

Tears were streaming down England's cheeks. Would it hurt, to end himself? What would it do to his people… That was the only reason he hadn't done it yet. That was the only reason he wouldn't ever do it. Because he couldn't do that to the people he _had_ to live for. In a twisted way, America was one of those people.

One day away until America's birthday. People were already arriving, preparing themselves all around. America had a dazzling smile grace his handsome features. He loved this feeling, surrounded by his people who still cared about something that happened so long ago. His first _real_ fight with England. America distantly wondered how the elder nation was. He vaguely noted that England never attended any of his parties. He didn't let it bother him, knowing everyone else showed. But he simply smiled, a bit forcefully knowing that the one person he wanted to acknowledge his strength and success wouldn't even visit him on his most important date.

One day until the fated day. No people stopped to ask how England was, no one wanted to hear about it. England's eyes were glossed with pained tears that distorted his delicate features. He loathed this feeling, of weakness. Knowing that he was going to be alone dreading something that happened so long ago. His war with his America, his love, his life. The brilliant luminate in his dark dreaded world. He internally inquired if America ever paid any attention to his absence to the younger nations parties. He wondered how it made him feel… Did he feel upset? Relieved? Did he _really_ want England to come? It was this struggle he encountered that made him avoid this date that mattered so much to America.

It felt as though England had lost his love. And America felt as though he had been abandoned by a friend. Both would never admit this aloud, for they were too prideful. But maybe enough drinks would change England's mind, or enough of this pain that resonated faintly in America's chest would finally force him to confront his old caretaker. But only then.

It was the day of party. A pity party for the former pirate, and a wild celebration for the former colony.

"Canada! Is this party wild or what bro!"

Canada chuckled nervously. Glancing over at Denmark and Prussia who were having a chugging competition. "Um, yeah. Great." America, unaware of the atmosphere took the compliment. "The best in a while." Canada silently wished England would come. England and Canada were friends, and England really didn't need to be alone. Especially on days like this.

"Hey, Spain!" He called over to the brunette. "Thanks for getting Romano to come! He never comes." He ended a tad bit dejectedly, but resumed his cheery mood.

"Of course, a bit of bribery if you know what I'm saying."

Canada went to say something, but was interrupted by America. "Tomatoes, right?" Canada was _this_ close from smashing a bottle of whiskey on someone's head. His own, America, France, he didn't care.

"No America." Canada muttered. "Not at all." Spain chuckled, winking at the quieter nation. America quirked his head in confusion, but didn't do anything further. "Sex, America. He bribed him with sex."

"Ohhhh." America concluded. "Wait a minute-" He was cut off by Spain's laughter, and the Spaniard turned around and disappeared into the crowd of people.

"I suggest shots!" Prussia exclaimed from where he sat. Denmark heartily agreed, much to Norway's displeasure. This caused a chain of reactions.

Finland nudged Iceland to get a friendly reaction, causing Iceland to smack the secretly badass nation over the head. Only to receive a terrifying death glare from Sweden, which made Estonia cower, and in turn made Russia smile creepily. That resulted in an uproar of the Baltic States, and that made Liechtenstein worried about them. Which then brought the permanently neutral nation to frustratedly drag his younger sister away from. In turn made Italy ask Germany why Germany always dragged Italy away much harsher than that, and Germany grumbled something. Then bringing Japan to pester Germany to 'rerax'. Then China decided to start offering his food to unsuspecting victims, causing Hong Kong and South Korea to mock him behind his back. On the other side of the room Egypt sat discussing the difficulties of life with Australia, Romania, and even Turkey. Greece was pushed by Turkey, because Greece was sleeping at a party, and Turkey called him a loser. Which resulted in the uprising of the cats. Where did they come from? America didn't know, but now his house was _covered_ in cat hair. This caused Austria to sneeze, and Hungary to abruptly stand to try to find a tissue. Spilling the drinks on the table. _All over Romano._ And he was _pissed._ Because _no one got away with that and lived with it._ And now Spain had to figure out how to calm him down. Speaking of Spain, where on earth was his two best friends? Prussia was… Nowhere to be found? And France hadn't even talked to anyone but Canada yet, which was _very_ strange. He normally flirted with everyone.

Needless to say, the party was going great.

But, fine things only last so long. Except for wine, according to France. Who still was missing, along with Prussia. And now Denmark… Probably puking. They drank a lot. America had a high alcohol tolerance, but they had higher. He assumed it was because of his age. He was turning 200 years old. The year was 1976.

A knock was on the door, and America seemed to be the only one who heard it. He was wrong, so had Canada. "America, make them shut up." He hissed. Canada wasn't normally rude, but this was serious business. The person outside that door was England, and he looked beyond _fucked up._ Canada didn't swear often either, this was just one of those moments.

"Mmm? Okay, sure." He stood on a chair. "Hey, dude-bros! Can you all like, shut up for a sec?"

How could he have forgotten Poland present? Poland was riding his horse through the house. How did he even manage to get it past America was beyond him, but it was happening regardless. Poland stood on the horse. "Everyone, be quiet or I'll talk about my new handbag!" That was returned with a _large_ chorus of groans. Silence filled the room nearly immediately, and the blonde, extremly gay nation, winked at America.

America beamed. "Alright Canada, wassup?"

Canada wrenched the door open to reveal and tired, and disheveled England. Who was very inebriated, and lost. Canada wanted to hug him, and not let him do this. Canada himself harbored feelings for America, but realized, England needed America. Canada was content seeing the two of them together. He would play matchmaker, praying it would make America happy. He knew it was best that England finally admit it, drunk or not.

"Canada, you needn't look so nervous. I'm not drunk."

Canada momentarily panicked. Was he obvious? Was England serious? What did America see? "I'm just happy you've finally arrived." Trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. Canada knew it upset America knowing that England never attended these parties. "Fashionably late, as Poland says."

Poland grinned in the background, and Lithuania attempted to pry him off of his horse.

England scoffed. "Of course. Poland is who I aspire to be."

America smiled. "Remember when I wanted to be just like you England? Strong, tough, independent. I got my wish." England tried not to be hurt, and Canada refrained from his urge to bury himself under America's liquor stash. Wasn't America technically 19 anyway? Wasn't it illegal to drink in his country?

England heaved a sigh, "Yes, of course I do. Though you always dressed poorly, still do in fact."

America gasped, "I do not!"

"Yeah you do." Poland muttered in the back.

Italy smiled. "Sean John, Calvin Klein, Donna Karan's fashion line…" He sung, and Germany clipped lightly over the head. America was silently thankful that the airy mood had finally returned.

"When's cake, mate?" Came the Australian accented voice in the far side of the room.

America grinned. "It's the Fourth of July! Cake now! For the rest of the night!" England shuddered at the words. Trying to ignore the pain that built up in his chest.

"I'm still drenched." Romano growled.

"I guess you could say… he's wet." Prussia stated, drawling the innuendo, when did he come back? And a delighted Spain chirped in response.

The party had returned to normal party behavior. Except for England. "Hey, England!" America called to the elder nation. "I'm really happy you came. You never came before…" He trailed off, and that answered England's previous questions. Yes, America was aware. Yes, America was a tad bit upset. England brushed it off, assuming America simply wanted everyone to attend his ' _totally awesome birthday dude'._ "Anyway, isn't it great?" He laughed. "Kind of like you were." He chuckled. "Great Britian."

" _What happened? You used to be so great?"_

The old familiar line that would have him wake up a destroyed, and obliterated nation mess. The nightmares that stemmed from it, knowing that every time America left him, and there was nothing England could do to stop him.

England said nothing, and America continued. "I… Hope you'll come next year too. You're the reason this party exists you know." And England would be damned if America knew what that line felt like to him.

"I suppose I am."

"Thank you. For coming, I mean." He rubbed his neck. "I guess it can't be easy." _Oh America, you have no idea._ England thought sadly to himself. "But hey, you're here now! No need to be upset, because I, the hero, will accept you as my trusty sidekick!"

Canada, who had just returned with France trailing behind, muttered, "I thought I was…?" He didn't mean anything by it, but received a dirty look from England and a pinch from France. Canada had just been discussing with France how to get England and America together. England was a mess without him, and America needed the stability. France had looked devastated and had to- mortifyingly- reply, for once, he didn't know.

America recovered fast. "Batman has had several Robin's."

"Didn't some of the others die?" Canada asked.

They were interrupted. By none other than… wait a moment. Romano? "In Batman, Under the Red Hood, Jason was in an explosion with the Joker and Batman and he's never seen again, perhaps implying his death." Romano suddenly gasped. "I've said too much."

"Big brother Romano! MY ADORABLE BROTHER. He loves Batman!" Romano turned red, bright red, almost as red as-

"Romano! You look like a tomato!" Spain cheered.

"Does that mean you'll eat him?" Denmark asked cheekily.

"I th'nk s'." Sweden responded with a light, and surprising voice to all of those who'd never really taken the time to listen to the Swede talk. He received a hit upside the head, and a scolding from Finland. "Sl'pped 'g'in." He tipped his head downward, like one would a fedora. "M'w'fe."

Iceland's eyes widened, and he snapped his head to Hong Kong. "Memes…" They breathed together.

If question marks came out of our heads to demonstrate confusion, Norway would be enveloped by the amount that surrounded him. What was Iceland talking about? What was wrong with his baby brother? Is a meme dangerous? Should he be concerned? He thought this until he realized, that he sounded like a frantic mother. In the face of danger, or 'brothering' one must look cool. Act hip.

"Yes, memes."

"Oh shit, waddup." Romania confirmed, and Egypt had to put his head down on the table.

"Big Bruder?" Liechtenstein began. "What's a meme?"

"Nothing you ever need to be associated with." Switzerland responded gruffly, deeply wondering why he had come to this party.

France watched England carefully. Evaluating his posture. He was stiff, but he still stayed rather close to America. What did that translate to? Nervous, but needing. It was like… America was like his drug. He knew it was bad, he knew it hurt him, made him nervous, yet he needed him. He craved to have the taller nation in his world, because he would get just as jittery without him. But unlike any drug, there was simply no cure from this one.

"Hey England?" America suddenly started. "Why didn't you come?"

England frowned. "What on earth are you on about?"

America furrowed his brows. "To my other parties. Why didn't you come?" His voice took on a serious edge, whenever this happened his accent would slightly alter to one of a Bostonian accent. And England melted inside, if only America knew how attractive that was.

"Oh, those…" What could he say? What would be a sufficient answer to please and comfort the American? "I was busy." He finally said. It was just 'I was busy'. There was no closure, but the brief answer said all it needed to.

"Tell me, England." America prompted. "Have you ever been in love?"

England's bushy eyebrows drew together. "What's that got do with anything?"

"I have. Once." He ignored England's question. "And it taught me a _valuable lesson._ " He sent him a cold smile. "I don't need love."

England frowned. "What? Who? When?"

"Davie." The words passed his lips and he felt a faint tingle rise through his body. "Do you remember him?" He didn't wait to hear England's response. "Davie was the first, and last person I will love." The tender smile that lingered on his face at the fond memories crumpled. "That was until I learned an important lesson. Love, like all else, never lasts."

England didn't know what to say. "That's not true." He uttered, his hopes shattered. America would never love again, would never trust again. "That's…"

"Really?" He asked. "You don't think I haven't looked around? Spain and Romano, you think they'll last, and before you know it Romano's dead."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't tell me you can't see it. Romano's dying." England shook his head fiercely. "Their love _can't_ last. Because Romano won't live." He scanned the crowd. "Sweden and Finland? Cute, but what's stopping someone from attacking Finland? Killing him? Or even Sweden for that matter."

England wanted to clamp his hands over his ears and shriek to tune out America.

"Germany and Italy? One of these days Italy will be taken, and Germany won't be able to save him." America's eyes were cold, dark. They no longer held the usual stars. "Love never lasts, Davie's and mine didn't."

England didn't know what to do. America was twisted, he was wrong. But he was so right. "No strings…" He mumbled. "No connection. No one controls you." England let his head fall. "In a way, I feel I helped this."

America laughed. It wasn't his normal, somewhat obnoxious but excited laugh. This time it was empty. "No one controls me." He confirmed. "Don't work yourself up. It's for the better."

"It's not." England said stubbornly. "It's not, because what if someone loves you."

Canada listened. France hugging him from behind as Canada cried. America was broken. Sure, he smiled. He functioned, he seemed quite alright. But something was so very wrong. Was it Davie that caused this? Was it the American Revolution? The War of 1812? Or… Perhaps the Civil War broke America? Canada loved America, England loved America. Why couldn't America see this?

"Someone, loving _me_?" America seemed genuinely confused. "Now why would that happen?" He cocked his head to the side, eyebrows raised, a small frown taking over his face. England hurt, knowing that America felt so _hateful_ about himself.

"Yes, why's that so hard to believe?"

America snorted into his champagne glass. England hadn't even noticed he'd had it. England was far too immersed in the conversation for such trivial things, though it surprised him such simplicities had slipped his observations so easily.

"Have you looked at me?" He shrugged and flicked his hair so it was no longer in his face. "Anyway, I oughta' spend time with my guests. It was nice talking to you, considering we have _so much_ history." He practically sneered the ending.

England stood stunned, and America went to mingle among the others. France and Canada stormed over to a shocked England to see how he was feeling. Canada worried about America, and France about the lack of romance he was viewing.

"I'm fine, he's not, but I am."

France didn't believe it for a second. England was so _not_ okay. He looked like he was having an internal crisis. France had heard everything America said, and he was having an internal panic attack. He didn't love America, no, you didn't have to love America to be worried about someone's twisted perception on love. Especially when you're France, the country of love. Though the title was a bit self proclaimed.

America on the other hand was flaunting himself around the room. He went from one group to another, checking in with the groups. Making a few laugh, making some others blush. It was a gift, he supposed. He was blessed with good looks and a charming personality. Though, the other half of the time he could be a bit of air head, many people fell for his good heart and great intentions. America however, was smart. He was a pilot after all, they didn't let idiots do that. And he had a dark side, frowning upon happiness that he forced himself to ignore most of the time. He couldn't help that it was a part of him, he didn't even want to. He didn't need love and that was that. No deep talks from England could change that… Right?

England claimed something about needing the restroom, before taking a speedy walk in the direction of it that quickly turned into a full out sprint. He couldn't breathe. America was not… He wasn't the happy, naive child he'd once been. America may not act like it, but after all these years he began to form a new change in his mind. And because no one knew of these turn of ideals, America continued to plot out his own beliefs. He was self loathing, but independent. He was strong, but in his heart he was weak. He hated himself, and craved love yet contradicted himself so sharply by denying himself what he deserved. It wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't fair to England.

What's worse was the day. It was July Fourth. The only day America felt loved, when his people roamed his country and played games. Shot off fireworks with his name, and people cheered. Regardless of not they knew the suffering it took to reach this. England felt a constricting feeling in his throat. America's official independence day, the day England pledged to make America feel loved, and every year after.

Ten years had passed, the year was 1986, and America's birthday was once again being celebrated. England had been working hard trying to instill into the nation's brain that being loved was okay. He would watch romantic comedies with the younger nation, and even invite France over to emphasize the idea of love. And, after much persistence America was starting to seem a bit better. He wasn't as cold about the idea, and seemed to accept it. Only a bit. Not for himself.

Canada was working his ass off too. Canada and England had the same goal. Make America feel loved without having him feel overwhelmed. So Canada spent time with him, as much as he could. Clued in other nations, to the point that Lithuania was staying at America's house hoping the more socialization and love he received would make him happy. Japan came over to play video games, and talk about technology (however advanced it was) and America smiled more. Real smiles, Canada and England noticed. He was happier, things were looking up.

America's party had started, and France insisted that instead of being fashionably late, (what he would usually be) he would come early, and help America and Canada set up. This meant England was dragged along, and the old FACE family was back together once again. Though less of a family, and more of a distorted team. Eventually, more guests arrived and America's interests bounced from each person.

America made it back to England, and the two engaged in conversation. "So… Are you dating someone?" America asked. England felt a tinge of hope in his system. Why was America interested?

"Not at the moment, why do you ask?"

America shrugged his shoulders. "You've seemed, more lovey dovey the last decade. Just wanted to make sure I haven't missed anything." He smiled, and England felt himself melt. Dammit, why was America so attractive when he wanted to be? Even when he didn't want to he was always handsome.

"Are you?"

Instead of receiving a civil answer, like 'no' he got a snort from America. "Nope, still not dating. A couple one night stands, those are always nice."

England massaged his temples. Some day, he would get America to say yes. Whether it be to him or someone, that damned America would be happy whether he wanted to or not. "Perhaps, but relationships in a way are better. You can have sex, whenever you like." What a queer topic to be discussing with America, especially at his birthday party.

"Relationships." He sneered. Then his face softened a bit. "Why, do you know of someone who'd like to date me?"

England felt his face being to heat up. "And if I did?"

America clucked his tongue. "It'd be nice if you told me."

"I don't know-"

"I do." Canada interjected, plopping down at the table.

"You know who likes me?"

Canada had the 'look into the camera like he's on the office' face on. He was done with everything. He meant 'I do' as in, he liked America like that. He wasn't sure if he was relieved that America didn't catch on.

"Yes, I do." He said bluntly.

America looked ready to explode. "Could you please, please, please, tell me?"

"It's not my place to say. Besides," He glanced around, motioning to everyone he wasn't a nation. "I'm certain at least half of the people here want a bite of you. Whether it be all of you, or a single chunk."

America frowned. "Did you just make a metaphor out of cannibalism?"

Canada didn't know what to reply to that. Yes, he did. But that _really_ wasn't the point. "What I'm trying to say is a lot of people love you." America nodded faintly.

"Love me, huh?"

Another decade slipped by, and the FACE team was once again working hard to keep America loved. Sooner or later this pampering would get to his head. England even went to the point of staying over once a week, despite the jetlag it brought upon him. Canada slept in America's bed, to keep him company at night. No one but Canada knew that the nation still had nightmares about wars. Specifically the Civil War, and the War of 1812.

France worked on his romantic side. Insisting that love was a grand thing, and that it could often be fun. America perked up at that. France said in love you could prank your lover, but you could also be gentle. You could be rough, and you could share things with one another. America asked, 'does that mean Canada's my lover? I don't know if I'm ready for that.' To which France laughed, and said, 'no, Canada's simply your friend.' Canada agreed, but was healthily heartbroken.

Canada and England shared the melancholy looks, knowing that working with America to have him feel loved was going to take a bit. Especially proving that love was good. However, when Romano died, America had another downward spiral. Seeing Spain lose his mind, tear out his hair, have breakdowns, America wanted no part of love. America, and everyone else had never seen Spain so destroyed, and America vowed he'd never let himself fall so hard.

When his birthday finally came, Spain was there.

America wasn't always a nice person, but he wasn't going to be mean to someone who just lost the love of his life. America harshly reminded himself, that was why he wanted no part of it. But he couldn't help but admit that the kindness he received from his fellow nations made him feel… He couldn't explain it. Alive, and more free than he'd ever been. And freedom was his most renown trait.

"Hello, Spain."

Spain glanced up from the pasta he was eating. It had reminded him of Romano. " _Hola, chico."_ His voice no longer held the same airy happiness to it, it had once had. "How may I help you, birthday boy?" He tried to force the jollity, but it was plainly gone from his life.

"I just wanted to stop over, and say hello. You know, just out of kindness."

Spain chuckled, that was forced too. "You needn't worry _amigo_. I'm coping." America knew that was lie, but didn't press the matter. "Even if I'm not, Romano wouldn't want me to cry all the time." He swallowed. "I'm sorry, you don't want to hear that. Happy Birthday, _Am_ _érica._ "

America pitied him, but found his words inspiring. So he still loved Romano, even after his death. He still thought about what Romano would want. Ate the food he and Romano had eaten together. In a way, it was wonderful. It was beautifully depressing, and America absentmindedly found himself wondering if he would ever have that one day.

He smiled at Spain, and the two parted ways. America went to go speak with other guests, before he ran into France.

"It's amazing, no?" He whispered forlornly. Looking at Spain from afar. "Him and Romano, _entre deux c_ œ _urs qui s'aiment, nul besoin de paroles._ " America's french was rusty, but he was fairly certain that meant, 'two hearts in love need no words.' America didn't know how to feel about that. Spain clearly still loved Romano. And, they obviously couldn't speak anymore, but Spain was still loyal to him. Maybe France was right… He couldn't be! America was fine, he'd always been fine. He didn't need love. He repeated that to himself like a mantra, chanting it, wishing it was true. His walls were crumbling, being loved and loving would be nice. Maybe… If it were like Spain and Romano.

 _It can be tough…_ America thought about how Romano could treat Spain. How he could be rude, and mean. _But it can be gentle._ Spain who would wrap his arms around Romano, and kiss him on the head. Romano would pretend he didn't love it, but they were happy. _You share things._ They shared everything, was that eternal love? Did Spain and Romano have that? Could America ever have that…?

It was America's 230th birthday. 2006. The world had changed so much, America had finished wars, and met new people. He learned a lot, he saw new technology being used by his and many other people. Him and Japan bonded over such, which pushed America out more and the two forgave each other for World War 2's mistakes. America spent more time with England and Canada, and even began to comment 'love' related things. France watched him proud with his work. Maybe there was hope for the younger nation yet.

"Did you hear about the man who choked on spaghetti?" Turkey joked on the night of the party, people gathered around. "Apparently, he _pasta_ way." He laughed, and so did a few others. Except for Italy. The nation was immediately distraught and sprinted out of the room, Spain and Germany on his tail. Turkey felt bad, which was fairly uncommon for him. He'd asked for Italy, to apologize, but Italy got to it first.

"I'm sorry, you didn't mean it like that. I just got upset, and it wasn't fair for me to cause a scene." That was very mature of Italy, and the problem passed quickly. Though it certainly wasn't the best party activity that had ever happened at America's house.

Italy got over it rather fast, and Spain was a bit detached for the rest of the night. Thinking only of Romano. America's view had been changed over the last few decades, and instead of seeing it as disgusting, he found it oddly hope inducing. It left a glum feeling on his heart, but it was swamped over with ambivalent, bittersweetness. He let the melancholy emotion stay, enjoying feeling something new.

Perhaps he could learn to love.

"America, are you enjoying the night?" England asked. The two of them were at the third floor's balcony. The stars twinkled in the sky and in the distance explosions of fireworks could be heard.

America turned to his former caretaker. "Yeah." He said. "Yeah, I am."

England found himself smiling. "Why's that?"

"England, what's the dictionary definition of eternal?"

England furrowed his brow. "Lasting or existing forever, without ending." He answered. "Why do you ask?"

His former nation just grinned. "I think I saw that."

The two didn't speak further, only watching the stars enjoying each others companionable silence. England was confused, but America seemed content so the elder nation didn't inquire further. Whatever it was America had laid eyes on, it left him with high spirits. And England couldn't ask any more for the man he loved.

Another decade passed. America's birthday's had been filled with even more joviality than what was held in the past. America seemed brighter, full of a newfound exuberance. England wasn't sure what it was, but he was happy. Happy to see America happy. England knew that his vocabulary in that sentence wasn't very broad, but it was the truth. This new America made England happy, because America looked ready to dance, all of the time.

"I'm nervous." America told Canada. "Honestly, Trump or Hillary? Either way, it'll be one of the worst elections in history." Canada rubbed his back soothingly. "I want George Washington back." He groaned.

"Necromancy is frowned upon, so I won't suggest that." The quieter nation muttered. "I wish you luck, hon."

"Ooh, did you see my movies? Tell me, Captain America Civil War, or Batman vs. Superman?" America asked, trembling with exhilaration.

"Personally Captain America. The Winter Soldier is a hunk." Canada mumbled quietly, but it was true. Bucky Barnes was definitely someone Canada wouldn't mind being tracked by. He certainly wouldn't mind Captain America either, only because Steve Rogers reminded Canada of his crush so much.

"I know, I personally think Chris Evans is _so_ hot."

England butted in. "America, do you still watch BBC?"

America nodded.

"So, Benedict Cumberbatch? Thoughts?"

America and Canada groaned. "Yes, hell yes."

All three laughed. France rolled his eyes. "Lust and love, _trés différent_."

"Guys, the party is tonight!" America exclaimed, clearly excited.

Canada looked up from the pancakes that sat on the table in front of him. He reached for the syrup not taking his eyes off of America. A deadpan look on his face. "Oh really? How did you figure that one out?" England chuckled. As shy as Canada could be, he was definitely snarky when he wanted to be.

America waved him off. "Did you see the cake guys? It's bigger than last years!"

"That's possible?" France questioned, and the other two nations snickered. America didn't hear them, he was too busy raving about the party food. Not listening to what anyone else had to say. France and Canada began discussing trivial topics, and England had to choose, America, or France and Canada?

"Did you hear me England? Yoo-hoo! Right here!" England snapped out the trance. "There you are! Did you hear what I said?"

"Um, no, I fear I did not."

America laughed. "Alright, I'm in love!"

Silence filled the room. But perhaps that was due to the fact that England had fainted.

When England woke again, only a few minutes had passed. Thankfully, he did not miss the party. When asked, England claimed it was due to the recent events involving the EU. Leaving him tired. America insisted England could sleep in his room, but England politely declined, multiple times.

"So, you never elaborated." France stated. "Who is the lucky person?"

"Well, they're handsome."

"So the only person in this room it could be is me." France concluded. America snorted, and England looked unamused. Canada was still eating pancakes, and made no move to stop so no one expected a reaction out of him.

"It's not you, so don't worry."

France pretended to swoon. "Oh, my. I'm heartbroken." Canada grunted into his next bite, and England rolled his eyes.

"I'll elaborate tonight." He commented, attempting to steal some of Canada's pancakes, and was stabbed with a fork. "Ow, damn." Canada growled, but America still tried to sneak his hand in to grab some. Failing miserably, England stood up and sat between the two.

"That's enough. You two are like children, I swear it."

Canada looked offended. "He tried to steal my pancakes! He started it!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"No way! You stabbed me, you started it!"

France scoffed. "Younger nations, I can't."

England sighed. "I don't have time for this."

The party would begin that night, and England was panicking internally at America's announcement. What would he possibly say?

England spent time reflecting on how he was 40 years ago. He couldn't believe it. So much time had passed, and yet it felt like a blink of an eye. England knew what he was like then. He was depressed, he was lost. In fact, when America's birthday came around now, his heart still ached. His former colony, no longer his. He loved America, with his heart and soul, and these four decades proved that. He didn't let himself cry on the birthday any longer. The date of Independence. America loved that day, and England loved America, he wouldn't ruin it with his tears.

France and Canada helped him figure out a system. How to be happy, even when things were rocky. He still cried himself to sleep some nights, wishing he had America with him again. Wishing he could hold, and be held by the younger nation. He still sobbed brokenly when looking through his old photobook. And at some point during the third decade, when he entered America's storage room, he felt as though he were being destroyed through the inside. Something eating at him, tearing him apart. The toys, the suit, the bayonet. He loved America, every part of him. And it was this fact that stopped him from crying on the Fourth of July.

America walked out into the party, but England hadn't yet seen him. He wouldn't for a bit, he was too busy talking to all of the European countries, asking what his plans were, and what he was doing without the EU. America spent time with all of the other countries, who weren't involved in such things, and focused on what he would say during his speech.

"France, how do I look?" He finally asked when he had gotten the nation of love separated from the crowd.

France looked the younger nation over, and France had to admit. Damn, America was good looking. "Brilliant. Isn't that-"

America silenced him. "It is, shh."

Canada looked on fondly. He loved America, he wasn't sure how. Brotherly, platonically, and some days romantically. But whenever he pictured America and himself, he couldn't. England would slide into his place, and it hurt. He ignored it for awhile until he realized, America was made for England. England was America's home, and America was his. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, made to fit together. Canada simply didn't fit, and he accepted that. He wanted the two to be happy, and if he could witness that, he would be just as pleased if it were him.

The night passed on, and America finally took his place in front of everyone.

"Good day!" America was a charismatic speaker, with enough charm to melt two tons of steel. "Or, I suppose good night. Actually, good evening. Sorry if I offended you-" He coughed, "England." The other nations laughed, and the once large empire blushed under the gaze of many. "Thank you all for attending my party, it means a lot." He sighed. "I say the same damn thing every year, I want to mix it up a little." He glanced around, "Let's see, who knows the meaning of the word perpetual?"

There were a few grunts and mumbles from the crowd.

"Never changing and ending, right?"

Agreement.

"Right, well, after a few many years of searching, I realized, I crave something." His eyes were a delicate blue, crystally with a near fallen tear. "Perpetual love," He stated. "I know now, that no man, no matter how great, can survive without it." He chuckled. "I'm supposed to be the hero, saving others, and at the end, I was saved."

He motioned towards France and Canada. "These two idiots helped." He smiled. "Really."

He then looked at England, who was crying. "But when I thought about who I could see myself growing old with, see myself loving everyday, crying with, I saw him. England, Arthur Kirkland, I want to be yours. If, you will be mine?"

England was sobbing, unsure how to feel. "Yes, America, yes."

America neglected finishing the rest of his speech, and was at England's side in a moment. Swooping him up for a kiss, both of their tears mixing and mingling, the salty taste reaching their mouths. They pulled away, breathless.

"America, if this is what Fourth of July is, and will stay, I will share it with you for the rest of my life." England whispered, so only the two of them could hear.

"Forget the past England, I'm independent, but I'm with you." He muttered back, pulling his lover back for a kiss.

Canada watched the two. Thinking the same thing that England and America were.

 _Fourth of July, the night of our lives._


End file.
